


Perfect Storm: One Day of Dancing

by frumious_bandersnatch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alastair and Lilith are Adam and Eve, Character Study, Dancing, F/M, love hate relationship, trueforms, waltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumious_bandersnatch/pseuds/frumious_bandersnatch
Summary: Any other time and there was no love lost between the two. Ancient resentment, never ending feud, but in the end they were created for each other. And if there was ever a time to be domestic, to get all those pesky human feelings out of the way- well, best to purge them all at once.Alastair and Lilith take one day out of the year, every year, to speak.
Relationships: Alastair/Lilith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Perfect Storm: One Day of Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this! I really want to explore these two as characters, and this idea just kinda jumped out at me. Let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks :)

It was just one day out of the year they saw each other. Any more and it would be intolerable- but for that one day, something like love could blossom again. And in cold, twisted hearts old as humanity itself, that was enough.

Alastair hummed softly, taking a sip of his scotch and leaning back. His quarters in Hell were nice. Clean, spacious, well furnished. Carpeted in white with grey walls, furniture a rich mahogany. A bitch to clean after coming back from torturing souls, but that was part of the pleasure of it. He hummed along softly to the song wheedling out of the ancient gramophone on the table next to him, smile teasing at his lips.

There was a knock at the door- tiny, restrained. He sighed. “Come back in an adult or not at all.” He called, not making a move to stand or even sparing a glance at the door.

A soft huff. “You’re no fun. What’s the problem with it?” He could practically hear a tiny foot stomping, hear the pout on her lips.

“I like children, but, hm, not like that. Grown woman or not at all, I won’t say it again.” Alastair closed his eyes and stifled a yawn, more than relaxed as he did. He heard the soft rush of air that comes with a being evacuating a space, and then, minutes later, the rush that comes with one returning. The door swung open.

“Happy?”

Alastair looked up at the tall blonde standing in the doorway and smiled. All teeth, no eyes. A shark’s grin. “Very.” He stood, looking down and realizing there was a soft spatter of blood on the collar of his shirt. He didn’t mind all that much, doubted she did either.

“Hm, good. And how’s your year gone?” Lilith asked, stepping inside and closing the door after her. The soft breeze from the fan overhead blew her white dress around her ankles, making it shift and sway.

“Dreadful. Not a fan of this new batch of demons. No promise, no motivation. Completely uninspired.” Alastair lamented and walked over to meet her, pulling her into a soft embrace. “And yourself?”

“Aw, poor baby.” Lilith’s lower lip pushed out in an affected pout, before she smiled. “Well enough. No matter how bad it gets on your end, productivity is up and up. Crossroads are humming along, and my toys are…” She hummed. “Just as lovely as always.”

Alastair rolled his eyes, leaned down to capture her lips in a fleeting kiss. “Never saw the point in keeping pets.”

“Says the demon who fucked the righteous man for ten years straight.” Lilith chided, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I should have gotten a piece of that, huh?”

“Can you blame me? Not like you don’t have fun without me.” Alastair chuckled, guided her further inside. “Drink, darling?”

“Not thirsty.” 

“Dance?”

“Of course.”

Alastair looked back over at the gramophone, and snapped his fingers. Any other time and there was no love lost between the two. Ancient resentment, never ending feud, but in the end they were created for each other. And if there was ever a time to be domestic, to get all those pesky human feelings out of the way- well, best to purge them all at once. One big session. It was like therapy.

After a moment of silence, save for the soft scratching of the needle echoing through the room, music played. Soft and sweet, accordion and english horn. Waltz tempo, fast enough to dance to but not so fast there wouldn’t be time for tenderness between steps.

And they danced. Her head against his chest, his hand at her waist, holding her close and gentle.

“Did you go to see him, Al?”

“Haven’t in years. Can’t stand the cage.” 

“Mm. Pity.”

The music would wind down, and a new song would start, much in the same style. It was seamless. Alastair bent down to kiss her softly and she reciprocated in full, still sweet and unclouded by lust.

“Any thoughts of rebellion? I’ve been hearing unsavory things about that new head of the crossroads.”

She laughed. “From who? I didn’t think you talked to anyone.”

“I talk to Belphegor.” Alastair defended, tone playfully hurt.

“Oh, he barely counts, sweetie. Crowley is under control. Promise. You don’t even care about politics, anyways.”

“No, not really. But it keeps you talking, doesn’t it?”

“You’re awful.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Up the tempo and they were spinning around the room, perfectly in step, perfectly in time.  _ 1 2 3, 1 2 3. _ In and out and harmony and a slice of long lost heaven in Hell.

“Speak to Cain at all?”

“He keeps to himself.”

“Mm. I should get up there.”

“Someday…”

At some point they abandoned their vessels. Smoke and twisted, demented things that were all hard edges and rusted blades and horns and a hundred piercing white eyes that shone with the beginning.

“I’ll pin you to the wall and fuck you like an animal.”

“Not if I do first, huh?”

And they were laughing, and it was joy and grief and every emotion riled up to eleven because when else were they allowed to feel, and they took turns and the rooms were destroyed, claw marks in the wall and blood and cum staining the floor, sweat and piss and gore and vomit because extremes applied everywhere, and they danced a fine line between love and hate and beauty and horror and the music was blaring, blaring the whole time  _ 1 2 3, 1 2 3 _ , in and out and within and in forever and always, from beginning to end. Razor blades and honey, a perfect storm in a bottle.

In the years that followed that anniversary was so dreadfully quiet. No waltz drifting through the halls to the ears of tortured souls. No screams of ecstasy and pain, no wails of grief and mourning. And years later, many years later, it was celebrated alone by a party of one. And the next time it was silent once more. When everything Hell was was changed, when even their creator was no more and Hell rang empty and untrue.


End file.
